


Yellow Brick Road

by silentdescant



Category: Pentatonix
Genre: Dancing, Drinking, Friendship, Gen, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7148303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitch danced with Scott for a while and Esther for a while after that, but they both left him for more alcohol, so now he's dancing alone. Except he's not alone, because there are bodies all around him, and the baseline of this song is pumping through his blood like a second heartbeat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yellow Brick Road

**Author's Note:**

> Written for an anonymous tumblr prompt.

Mitch is feeling pretty great. The show was great, the post-show champagne was great, and the music in this club is great, and Mitch is drunk enough now to enjoy it out on the dance floor. He danced with Scott for a while and Esther for a while after that, but they both left him for more alcohol, so now he's dancing alone. Except he's not alone, because there are bodies all around him, and the baseline of this song is pumping through his blood like a second heartbeat. He closes his eyes and let's his arms and hands float where the music takes them, up into the humid air. He can almost feel the green and red lasers as they arc and flash above him and light up his skin.

Someone behind him curls a hand around Mitch's waist, sweaty fingers creeping up under Mitch's shirt, firm enough that it doesn't tickle. He turns around and finds a very muscular man attached to that hand, and Mitch grins and moves a little closer, staying well within the guy's grasp. He's broad and ripped and almost as tall as Scott, and his shirt is unbuttoned down to his navel, and he's eyeing Mitch hungrily. Mitch throws his head back, half expecting the man to bite him like a vampire--he looks the type, or maybe that's just Mitch's fantasy talking, because the guy clings to Mitch's hips but doesn't lean down to kiss him or bite him or anything.

Mitch could totally go for a kiss right now. He slings his arms carelessly over the guy's shoulders and grinds on him for at least half the song, and while the man is definitely into it, he's also weirdly stoic about it. Not the greatest dance partner, or maybe he's just not as drunk and loose-limbed as Mitch. He accepts but doesn't return the open-mouthed, messy kiss Mitch plants on his throat--since he can't reach the guy's mouth--and when the beat changes, he spins Mitch around so they're dancing back to front again.

It's not that Mitch minds; he's more than willing to rub his ass all over this guy, but he can't really get a read on him, and it starts to feel awkward, dancing when he can't even see his partner's face. It gets boring real fast. At some point while Mitch isn't paying attention, they drift apart and some other guy joins Mitch instead, at least for one or two songs.

By then, Mitch is a little winded and extremely sweaty, and he either needs some water or another vodka tonic, and the place for that is back at the table with the rest of the gang. He slips through throbbing tangle of limbs that makes up the dance floor and finally breaks into some fresh air near the back of the room. It feels like breaking the surface of the ocean and Mitch gasps for a moment and hangs onto the back of a chair while he recovers. It's much easier to find his friends when he can breathe properly, and he's already feeling better by the time he reaches the booth.

Scott is texting on his phone but he welcomes Mitch to the bench seat with open arms. They sprawl together, too warm for comfort, and Mitch gulps down a few sips of somebody's beer.

"Hey!" Avi objects from across the narrow table. His beer, then.

"I'm thirsty!" Mitch replies. "Mm, I need my own drink."

"You're so drunk," Scott tells him, laughing as he digs his fingers into Mitch's side.

Mitch flails and slaps Scott's hands away from him. But without Scott holding onto him, the bench is too narrow for the both of them and Mitch nearly slips to the floor. He somehow manages to avoid smacking his head on the table.

Esther says, "I think that's enough tickling," in her stern tour mom voice, and she and Scott drag Mitch back up between them, into his own spot on the inner curve of the half-circle booth.

"I want a drink, though," Mitch tells them. He can't get to the bar from here. He's trapped by Scott on one side and Esther and Avi on the other.

Scott, best friend that he is, offers to get everyone another round. Esther refuses, because she's clearly the smartest of the group, but she doesn't bother telling them they've had enough. Tomorrow's a travel day, so they can all just sleep off their inevitable hangovers on the bus.

While Scott is gone, Mitch scoots over into his spot at the edge of the booth, where the lighting is better for a selfie. He messes around on snapchat for a few minutes, trying to find the perfect angle and a decent filter.

"Hey," says someone right over Mitch's shoulder. He turns, thinking it's Scott back with the drinks, but it's the guy from earlier, the dancing partner with the weird vibe. He's looming over Mitch and the whole booth, really, and Mitch feels like he's craning his neck too much just trying to meet the man's gaze.

"Hey?" Mitch replies with a shrug. Yeah, the guy's hot, but he didn't seem all that into Mitch earlier, and that just makes him a waste of time.

"You wanna get out of here?"

Mitch raises his eyebrows. He can feel Avi and Esther watching. Listening. "I'm with my friends," he says. There's no use trying to explain his tour schedule and imminent bus call. He doesn't actually know what time they need to be back. That's why they have Esther with them.

Scott comes back then, carrying two cocktails and another beer for Avi pinched between his ring and middle finger. He slides around the looming man and nudges Mitch back to the far end of the booth. "Beer for Avi, vodka tonic for Mitchy, and appletini for me," he says as he passes out the drinks. Finally, he looks up, apparently just now noticing the man. "Who are you?"

The man doesn't answer. He only has eyes for Mitch, and the hungriness in his gaze is starting to get creepy. Mitch suddenly feels a lot more sober than he did five minutes ago. He holds onto the table to make himself steadier, hoping his body catches up to his brain soon.

"I'm with my friends," Mitch says again.

"I think they'll be fine without you."

This makes Avi's brow furrow. He looks back and forth between Mitch and the creepy guy and says, "He's not going home with you."

Scott gets a clue and slings his arm over Mitch's shoulders. "Baby, didn't you tell him you're taken?" he asks, landing a sloppy, wet smooch on Mitch's jaw.

"Didn't seem very taken out on the dance floor, the way you were pawing me."

Avi stands up. He's not as tall or as broad as the creepy guy, but the beard makes him intimidating. That and the pissed off expression he's currently wearing. "He said no. It's time for you to leave."

"Yeah, fuck off," Scott adds.

Creepy guy stares at Mitch a moment longer.

"You heard 'em," Mitch says. He takes a sip of his drink as casually as he can muster, then pointedly turns his attention to Esther. She checks her watch.

"Finish your drinks, boys," she says, following Mitch's lead and ignoring the guy completely. "We've got places to be and people to see."

Mitch bats his eyelashes at her. "You're an angel."

"I know."

Avi sits down again and drains half of his beer in one go. The creepy man is gone. "Dude," he says. "That guy was ripped."

"I know!" Mitch replies. "Super weird, though."

"He looked like he was going to rip Avi in half," Scott says.

Esther snaps her fingers at them. "Guys, come on, finish up. I wasn't lying about the whole places to go, people to see thing. And I don't really want to think about creepy dudes fighting my brother over you. I hope that doesn't happen often."

Avi shrugs. "There's a first for everything. I don't mind. I'd fight for you, Mitchy. Defend your honor."

Mitch grins brightly. "Thanks, daddy."

"I'd fight for you too," Scott pouts.

"Sweetie, you kissed me," Mitch replies, patting Scott's cheek gently. "Not quite the same, but I appreciate it."

Esther reaches across the table and takes Scott's martini glass right out of his hand. She drains it in one long gulp and slaps the empty glass down the table. "Up, up. Let's blow this popsicle stand."

Mitch and Avi both toss back the remainder of their drinks they all exit the booth as one, stumbling against each other as they make their way through the crowded club and into the crisp night air. They link arms once they're out on the sidewalk and Mitch feels like they're drunkenly reenacting The Wizard of Oz, half-skipping, half-tripping down the yellow brick road toward home. He's overcome with a nostalgic feeling of family, a shared journey, and he's so grateful for his band and his friends always sticking with him.

"Thanks, babes," he murmurs, swaying between Scott and Esther as they walk. He starts humming the song from the Wizard of Oz and Avi immediately picks it up too. Scott, predictably, joins in with the lyrics and they turn their stumbling into a full skip as they make their way back to the bus.


End file.
